Nineteen
“It’s Blake,” Emmett said when he answered his phone.
“Blake Eastwood? The same guy who Stef—”
“Yes.” Emmett cut him off like he couldn’t stand to hear the end of that sentence.
On that count, Emmett and Chase agreed. Chase had always appreciated his best friend’s surge of protectiveness where his sister was concerned. Blake Eastwood had better steer a wide berth around Stefanie if he wanted to live a long, healthy life with his balls still attached to his person.
“The rat is in-house. One of the campaign interns. Blake targeted her. She’s young, pretty. His type.”
Chase could practically hear the steam coming out of Emmett’s ears.
“She broke into your desk, stole the photo and delivered it to Blake, who’s backing your opponent financially,” Emmett said. “I questioned her and she burst into tears and confessed that she’d slept with Blake after meeting him in a bar. She didn’t know who he was and she definitely did not expect him to blackmail her.”
“What a dick.”
“He’s not done yet. The intern told me before she quit that he said he was planning on staying on top of your new relationship until he hit pay dirt.”
Now the steam was mostly coming from Chase’s collar. He felt his face heat.
“We went through the rest of our staff with a fine-toothed comb. She’s the only defector.”
“Thanks, Emmett.”
“Things are...good?” The pronounced pause was a clue that he wasn’t asking about politics.
“Mimi went home an hour ago. We’re no longer snowed in.” He’d learned that the best answer was an answer that didn’t commit to a direction. Just the facts.
Chase had walked her into the garage and held her truck’s door for her while she climbed in. Before he could think better of it, and before she could stop him from doing it, he leaned in and kissed her goodbye. Her eyelids were still closed when he backed away and it took everything in him to honor her request for a “clean break” and not make love to her on the front seat of her truck. It was too soon for a goodbye. He’d just found her again, dammit.
“Are you staying in Bigfork?”
“Just until things settle down. Mimi doesn’t believe this will disrupt her life. She’s wrong.”
“Uh-huh.” His best friend’s tone took on the rare quality of amused. “Not because you wanna stay close?”
More that than the other, but Chase didn’t admit as much. He ended the conversation with, “Call me if anything changes” and received Emmett’s typical sign-off.
“You got it, boss.”
* * *
When Miriam had returned home yesterday, there were no waiting paparazzi on her front stoop. And when she drove to work the next morning, she hadn’t been chased by a dark car with a long camera lens aimed out the window. Either Chase had overestimated her importance in his opponent’s smear campaign, or he’d simply overreacted. Either worked for her. She would prefer to avoid any more drama if possible.
Yesterday she’d driven away from his mansion, his kiss still burning her lips. If he hadn’t pulled away—if he hadn’t been the one to shut her truck door, she might’ve been tempted to leap out and pin him to the nearest wall.
That was the effect he had on her. Beyond attraction, his pull was more like gravity. She was the anvil dropped off a cliff. And like gravity wouldn’t bear the brunt force of that fall, neither had Chase when she’d followed him home to Dallas ten years ago.
She’d do well remembering that.
On the way to her office inside the main MCS building, she encountered Darren, a fifteen-year-old smarty-pants who practically lived there. He’d started volunteering last summer and had quickly taken a shine to her. She could tell by the way he stuttered her name and watched his shoes whenever he talked to her.
He fidgeted, one tennis shoe scuffing the side of the other as she approached her office.
“Hey, Dare.”
“Hi M-Miss Andrix.” His smile flinched. “I wanted to talk to you.”